by Aria Ford
Stupid, I knew. I snorted with laughter. Why was I behaving like a kid? I was thirty-two, for crying out loud! I shouldn’t care so much that one guy treated me a bit like I had a contagious disease. Who cared about what he thought, anyway? He was just one person. Just one person who was taking over my whole brain.
I heard my phone ring as I reached a nearby park. Went in and answered it. It was Carla from work. Since it was a Sunday, that might have been weird, except it wasn’t. Carla was my best friend.
“Hey!” I said. “How’s it going, girlfriend?”
She laughed. “Bee! I missed you. How are you?”
“Good,” I nodded, sitting down on a park bench. Hearing her made me feel a bit better. “Confusing, but good.”
“Confusing?” she sounded interested. “Who’s confusing? Someone new?”
I frowned. How the heck had she guessed? “No one,” I said quickly. She laughed.
“No one? Come on, Bee.”
“What do you mean?” I said guardedly.
She laughed. “Sorry, Bee. You just said that so quickly I guessed it had to be someone. So? What’s he like?”
I sighed. “Carla Macy. I am not interested in any guy.”
“Oh.”
She sounded disappointed. I sighed. “I’m sorry. I just really am in a weird mood today. I guess everything’s just getting to me too much. I am glad you called, though. I feel better hearing from you.”
“Oh.” She sounded pleased. “Thanks.”
I leaned back on the bench. The sky was cerulean overhead, dotted here and there with white clouds. I felt the peace and cleanness of it settle on my soul, making me feel peaceful again. I had an idea. Daisies. Blue skies. White clouds.
“Hey!” I said. “Inspiration!”
She blinked. “Inspiration? Sounds good!”
“It is good. I’ll…I’ll call you back later. Okay?”
It was good that it was Carla. She understands these things, since she is an artist. I grabbed my notebook and hastily scribbled down the words and images in my mind. Then I stood. I could just about head back home now.
I lingered in the park awhile, just enjoying the sunshine and the flowers. It was a beautiful summer day. My watch told me it was ten A.M.—plenty of time to explore and enjoy before I met Mom and my brother. I watched people walking in the park—some jogging, headphones on, smart watches ticking—others walking adorable dogs or out with families.
Young couples walked past, hand in hand. Seeing them twisted something inside me, like it always did.
Why am I still single?
Every time I saw young people—or people my age, that awkward gap between young and family-starting age—I felt at once happy and sad. Happy that they were happy, and sad about my life.
Why couldn’t I find someone myself?
I felt their presence almost like a judgment, a big sign that jumped out at me and told me I had somehow screwed up. If I was more beautiful, more sensible, more…I don’t know, more normal—I would have what they had. I would be “getting it right”.
I shook my head. It was a stupid thing to think. But I couldn’t shake it. And somehow meeting Kyle, and having him be so weird, had set that feeling off again so badly.
Luke had screwed me up about relationships. He had been demanding, critical and cruel. After picking myself up off the ground after we split, I wasn’t ready for another one. It wasn’t that I blamed him—not exactly. And it wasn’t that I blamed myself. It was just that I knew now that I had a lot to clear out of my head before I found someone.
Why did I think I had to put up with his cruelty? That was my big question. Where had my voice gone?
I was determined to find out before I went putting myself in the same situation again. It wasn’t worth it.
I found my feet had brought me to the park’s gate. I smiled at an old lady walking a fluffy dog, patted the fluffy dog and headed out. In the street, I managed to spend two hours shopping. I came away with a single scarf made of soft silk and patterned with a bright red plaid. I shook my head at myself, amazed at my ability to get distracted.
Luke always said I was the worst procrastinator. It isn’t true. I get lots done once I feel ready to move into action. I put on the scarf—blue and patterned with flowers—and headed to the meeting place.
“Mom! Rodney!”
It was 12:40 P.M. when I got there, and they had just arrived. I sat down at the table and grinned at both of them.
“Sorry, guys. I was shopping.”
“Oh! Great!” Mom looked enthusiastic. “I wanted to go afterward. Want to join me?”
“Maybe,” I shrugged. “Sounds like fun. Are you looking for something special?”
“A dress for Terri’s sixtieth bash. She’s having it in their home at the coast.”
“Oh!”
We chatted and ordered lunch. While we finished our meals, Rodney got a call.
“‘Excuse me, guys,” he said apologetically and headed out. Mom turned to me.
“Sweetie, are you okay?” she said gently.
I frowned. “I guess,” I said. I thought I had managed to hide the fact that I was still feeling wistful and a bit disheartened. Every time I saw couples come in or go out, I felt a stab of that vague restlessness.
“What does that mean?” she asked with a teasing smile. “I know there’s something on your mind. What is it?”
I sighed. “I guess… Mom? Am I pretty?”
She laughed. “Baby! How can you even ask me that question? You’re stunning. Especially with the genes you got from me.”
I laughed and smiled at her gently. “Mom, I am your daughter. I know you love me and you’re probably biased. But…” I trailed off. “I’m being like a kid, I know.”
She shook her head and reached across and touched my hand. I felt the reassurance of that touch anchor me. “No, you’re not. You had a hell of a time with that guy of yours. Of course you feel unsure sometimes.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Mom. It’s nice that someone knows how I feel.”
She nodded. “I do, believe me,” she said fervently. “Men can be such assholes.”
I blinked. My mom is a vibrant and outspoken sixty-year-old. If I can be like her when I’m that age, I will be so happy. “Mom!” I said.
“What?” She grinned at me and put down her tea. “It’s true, sweetie.”
I nodded. “I know.”
We both sat quietly for a while, letting that truth sink in. My dad and mom had split when I was fifteen and Rodney a little boy. They were still friends—Mom always said they just couldn’t live together. I could understand that. They had argued when we were kids, but not a lot—I think they had the respect for each other to give each other space, which had resulted in a friendly and neutral divorce. We stayed with mom and Dad went back to Wyoming, to start a successful farm.
“Mom, when you met Dad… did you—did you know?”
“Know what?” Mom asked, swirling her tea in the glass and staring into the green tea depths.
“Well, you know—was there some special feeling, something you’d never had with anyone else before?”
She frowned. “Not so much. Not at first. I liked him—okay, make that a lot. He was hot, your father. Sorry,” she added at my shocked grin. “But he was. And the more I knew about him, the more I liked him. The more I realized that there was something special. Something I’d never felt before.”
“What was it?” I asked.
She looked up. “Trust,” she said.
I stared at her. “Trust?”
“Mm,” Mom said, nodding as she swallowed some tea. She set aside the cup and leaned back, stretching. “With other guys, I always felt like there were parts of me they shouldn’t see. I was acting, I guess. Holding my true self back. With your dad, I was happy. I felt safe to be myself.”
I nodded. She was right! With Luke, I was always thinking. I thought about what he would do, what he would think. What I should say, what I should do. If I l
aughed too loudly, cried too much, talked too often, he’d think I was dumb. Or ditzy. Or too emotional. I put too much effort into it.
Yes, there was something missing in that picture. The something was myself.
“Wow, Mom,” I said.
She smiled. “What, sweetie?”
“That’s amazing.”
She smiled. “Thanks, baby.”
At that moment, Rodney came in. He looked relieved.
“Shall we go?” he asked. “Sorry—that was Blake. He said he’s found the bug. Our code works now.”
“Oh?” I frowned. “Sounds good.”
“Good?” He was practically shaking with relief. “It’s awesome. Now I can finally relax.”
“Hurray!”
Mom looked from me to Rodney. “That calls for a celebration. Ice cream?”
“Ice cream!” Rodney kissed her hair affectionately and she shoved him in the shoulder.
“You know I’m a kid inside, Mom.”
She grinned. “You’re not a kid. You’re an innocent grown-up.”
His smile was stunning. “Thanks, Mom.”
She gave him another affectionate push. “Come on. Shouldn’t there be an ice cream stand here somewhere? I saw one on the way down.”
As Mom and my brother played hunt-the-ice-cream-van, I followed behind them. I felt lighter inside. Happier.
Mom’s right. The point isn’t to get it right. The point is to be yourself.
“Hey! There it is! On the right!”
“Great. Wait up, Rodney.”
I laughed, watching Mom and Rodney cross the road. While we waited for our turn at the stand, I found myself running through the conversation the night before. Something stood out.
During that whole conversation, I didn’t think once about whether I should or shouldn’t say something.
I had told Kyle some of my firmest opinions, some of my most heartfelt ideas. And I hadn’t stopped to wonder—not once—if he would think I was stupid. Or overemotional. Or loud.
Weird.
“Hey, Bee,” Rodney interrupted my thoughts. “Which flavor you having?”
I frowned. “Is there chocolate?”
We all laughed. I always had chocolate.
“Yes, Bee. Of course, it’s a classic.”
“Perfect.”
While we walked back to our apartment, ice creams in hand, the sun high overhead, I pondered that one important observation. During that one short conversation with Kyle, I had opened up more in a few minutes than in two years with someone else.
No wonder, I realized suddenly, I had been so hurt by his reaction. I had opened up to him, and he had shut me out. At least now I knew why it had bothered me so much. Trust. It was all about trust, just like last time. Everyone had a story though. I would figure it out.
Chapter 4: Kyle
I was in my office, lost in thought. It was a Monday, and I had work flowing in from all directions. I should have been signing papers, reading reports, getting a clean desk before the first meeting at ten thirty. But I wasn’t.
I was still thinking about Bethany, daydreaming like a teenager in school.
In its own way it was annoying. Dammit, get out of my head! I wanted to shout it at her. I kept on seeing that sweet, soft face hovering in front of me, and I knew my poor body was aching for her. But it wasn’t just my body—it was some weird way she’d touched my mind.
I haven’t ever felt like someone is reaching out to me like that. Like they’re reaching inside me. Like it’s safe to say things.
Weird.
The phone rang.
“Yes?”
“Kyle? It’s Rodney. The new software is ready for first use.”
“Wow!” I was surprised. “Hell, Rodney. That was quick. Last time we chatted you thought another week?” That was great news! We were waiting for the new software—from an organizational point of view, it would straighten out so much and give so much relief.
“Yeah,” Rodney chuckled. “Turned out the bugs weren’t as bad as I thought. Blake and I got it sorted on Sunday afternoon. Ready for when it’s needed.”
“You’re going to present it to the board on Friday?” I asked. “I mean, that’s soon enough, right?”
Rodney gulped. “Sure.”
“You want to meet at lunch?” I asked, glancing at the clock. It was a bit outside my job description, but let’s face it, I liked Rodney. He was friendly and easy to chat to. A nice guy to spend an hour with. And he was also the brother of the woman who had annoyingly taken up residence in my head.
“Great. Twelve thirty?”
“Sure,” I nodded. “My meeting should be over by then.”
“Till then, boss.”
I chuckled. “See you, Rodney.”
We met at twelve-thirty at the crowded Café Roxford, just around the corner from the office towers. I slid in between the occupied tables, listening with half an ear to the discussions floating up around me. Stocks and shares were declaimed, news swapped, ideas traded.
“Hey,” I smiled at Rodney, who was seated at the only table with a free place. He grinned. He looked really happy.
“Hey! Great. I wanted to show you our first outputs…I’m really happy with them!”
I frowned, reaching for my glasses. I’d started wearing them recently and still felt a bit self-conscious about them. “Later, Rodney,” I said wearily. “Can you just give me the stuff in plain English, please? My head hurts.”
“Sure,” Rodney nodded, looking discouraged, filing the reams of paper away. “Coffee, huh?”
“Mm,” I nodded. “I need one. And have you ordered lunch?”
“I was waiting so we could both order.”
“Thanks.”
I looked through the menu while he chatted about the program—most of it in computer speak that went straight over my head. I nodded at regular intervals and tried to pretend it made sense. I wasn’t fooling anyone, I thought.
“So,” I heard him say. “FastTrack is ready when you need it.”
“Great,” I nodded slowly. “You have those results in your presentation?” I waved a hand at the stack of documents.
“Sure,” Kyle nodded. “I added them in this morning.”
“Great.”
The waiter arrived and took our orders—Kyle had wraps, I had sandwiches—and then I decided to take the plunge.
“Your sister works as a designer?” I asked as casually as I could.
Rodney nodded. “Sorry if she was a bit argumentative,” he said.
“Argumentative! Rodney,” I laughed. “Are you kidding? Your sister is the most…” I trailed off, realizing how obvious I was making my interest. “Your sister’s not argumentative,” I finished, looking down at my hands quietly.
When I looked up, Rodney had a strange expression on his face. Speculative, almost, like he was trying to figure something out. It was only there an instant, then it disappeared.
“What?”
He shrugged a little helplessly. “Nothing,” he said.
“Sorry,” I said moodily. “Just distracted,” I lied. “Got a lot on my mind.”
“I get it,” Rodney nodded. “A lot of it around nowadays.”
It was my turn to frown. “Lot of what?” I asked, curious.
“People getting distracted,” Rodney said.
I sighed. “It’s summer. I guess people are trying to get stuff done so they can go on vacation.”
“Mm,” Rodney nodded. “It’s a pity Bee took her vacation now, while I’m still working.”
“She’s on vacation?” I asked, interested in spite of myself.
“Yeah. Just a week, though,” Rodney said wistfully. “It feels like ages since I last saw her, though really it must have been at Christmas.”
“Mm?” I frowned, wondering what Rodney’s family did at Christmas—what Bethany did.
“Yeah. We spent it here. She usually spends the summer in Miami, so it’s great that she came down this year.”
&nbs
p; “She has friends there?” I asked. I was surprised by my degree of interest. I also felt a bit silly. She probably has a boyfriend there. None of you are so young nowadays. She could be married, even!
“She does,” Rodney said speculatively. “But I think she misses San Diego sometimes. She has more friends here.”
“Oh.”
The waiter arrived with our orders and I looked down at mine with interest. I started eating at once. As I crunched my way through a piece of toasted bread, nutty and great tasting, I was surprised by a sudden flashback to when I was a kid, sitting in the shelter of a wall, eating sandwiches an old lady had made for us. I only spent two weeks on the street before Dad found me, but the hunger, and the fear of hunger, had never really left me.
“You heading somewhere nice for the holiday?” Rodney asked, interrupting my memories. The picture vanished, replaced by one of our family holiday house in Colorado. I never went there now.
“I never go. I like it here.”
“Oh?” He frowned.
My relationship with my dad is something I never talk about. The admission that we never spent holidays together—not since I was a kid, not since before Mom left—was something I had never revealed before. I looked at my plate, feeling awkward.